I feel worse.
My hands are still shaking. Not from the music. Not from the stage. Not from the cameras.
From the moment she got hit.
Because something inside me snapped.
“I told security we were fine,” I say.
She lifts her gaze. “Fine about what?”
I swallow hard.
“About you, really,” I say quietly.
Her breath catches.
I take one step closer without even meaning to.
“Because the second you got pushed by that fan,” I say, “I saw red.”
Annabelle’s lips part. Her eyes widen.
We stare at each other in the flickering alley light.
The air changes.
Thickens.
Pulls tight between us.
And for one suspended heartbeat, just one, I almost close the distance.
Chapter seven
Annabelle
The second the back door shuts behind us and the roar of the arena fades, I round on Bryce like I’m about to perform an exorcism.
I’m shaking, partly from adrenaline, partly from rage, and partly because Bryce Blackhorn is standing three feet away looking unfairly hot under a flickering alley light like he belongs on a movie poster titled: Terrible Decisions, Volume One.
My voice comes out sharper than intended.
“See?See?This is exactly what I mean, Bryce. One second you’re fine and the next, boom…headline. Chaos. Media wildfire. This is not what the Outlaws need.”
He drags a hand down his face, jaw tight.
“You think I wanted that?”
A notification pings from his phone. Then another. And another.
I don’t have to see the screen to know what it is.
Public opinion sharpening its knives.
Bryce exhales heavily, pacing one frustrated step before turning back toward me.
“Look, I get it. I have a reputation. And yeah, sometimes I’ve earned it.” His eyes lock onto mine: intense, amber, too honest. “But sometimes? This crap justhappens.Because people are looking for something, anything.”
